


gryphons at the door

by rhythmickorbit



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Gender Issues, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Poetry, Recovery, Sexuality, Symbolism, cause im still doing that, personal, poetry collection, what the fuck is gender? idek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: A collection of my own personal poetic works. Each one is from a different part of my life, each with its own level of angst or story behind it. None of it is perfect, obviously, but it's all work I very much enjoyed creating anyhow! Featuring author's notes with occasional incredibly personal anecdotes.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Five Mistakes and One Accident that I don’t Regret

The first was a straw drawn too short,

A jealousy of vapor slipping between

Sweaty hands and occasionally sticky glances

The second was blue-eyed, bright, intelligent.

Perfect was a synonym, but he was also honey,

Drawing every fly from hither and beyond

Picking individuals from the swarm and leaving the rest

Hidden in the throng.

The third lasted for seven days.

Seven tumultuous, stomach-churning days,

Begun in the haze of bright lights and screens and text,

Digits exchanged but words barely spoken.

The fourth was lyrical,

Lulling the fool with words and

Exchanging hushed 

Secrets

Grinning, teasing, nicknaming until

He uncovered one better behind the curtain

Which covered the window right next to me

(It used to be my favorite window)

And shook his head

Expressing feigned regret even as he smiled,

A fruit rotting as the summer drew closed.

The fifth was subtle.

Heart tugging, wrenching, twisting every which way

Grasping for something visceral

Doe-brown eyes betraying nothing

Soft laugh rewarding, specks of gold in the mud

Looking forward, grinning and begging as 

She turned away, and 

The water became ever closer

She looked across and those eyes were not

That of an herbivore, but of a predator,

Straying not from the pack

Leading along the bank’s edge

Leading through a snow-covered plain

And ultimately

Leaving it melted, steaming with the heat of

Uncaring breath and teeth.

The sixth was sweet,

A cake, smooth icing washing over the tongue

Hands squeezing, fingers interlocked,

The blare of a television but quiet all at once,

Sharp tongue barbed, scraping adversity away,

Capable of melting walls at the same time.

Grins tilt to the side and back, back and forth it goes,

A giant confusing puzzle, willing to interlock,

Despite irregular prongs and points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poem is a summary of the relationships/feelings I've had toward others throughout high school, with a brief dip into middle school in the beginning there. There's a lot of personal symbolism (obviously,,,) but it's important to note that the only "significant" romantic involvement that I've had has been with girls. I'm still figuring out the nuances of my sexuality!! but man oh man did i know even less as a baby gay lmao
> 
> was gonna put a big ol explanation here but i think its more fun to let it be interpreted dont you?
> 
> oh yeah and i posted this one on deviantart; it got a daily deviation award and was featured on the front page of the site for a bit! pretty cool


	2. The Bodyguard and the Ruler

Oh, but you’re holy, my dear

They look up to you with reverence in their eyes

Bright with hope and the belief that

Your actions do not crack the barriers formed around them

You proved yourself

To them

But not yourself

I see it in the quiver of your hands

I see it in the hesitation in your words

Be bold like the red color you are

Like the fire that you are 

Like the fire with which I am in love.

You’re brash, my dear,

Quick to defend me, teeth bared so much I’m

Afraid that you’ll bite, but not me.

Never me; I fear for the others

The others who do not understand your ferocity 

Your gentleness

As intimately as I.

I draw my sword, you your fists

Your glares

Your stance

Keen, a thousand times better than a blade.

The love of those strangers means nothing

If I cannot, at the end of the day, spend my life with you.

You stand watch at the doorway, but

I want you to sit with me. 

We are separated by so much more than

Air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my transformers friends; can you guess who this is about??
> 
> spoiler: its chromblade
> 
> catch me writing sappy poetry about robots kissing for a creative writing class lmao


	3. untitled marching band poem

There are frozen fingers 

There are hot nights

There are nights like these, spent

Working wrists and knees to the bone 

Until the sound, the sight is perfect

We’re all together, now

Larynx quiet but voices loud

A heavy thumping in my chest 

Unrelated to my heart

Although intertwined with the sinews

A blaring in my ears 

Exhilaration 

We’re together, like it or not

And one last time

We’ll fill the empty air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A poem about marching band, something that means a lot to me and my personal growth


	4. poorly managed habit

My fingers are ragged

With the bitemarks of anxiety

Chewing, gnawing, ripping--

Uncaring of callouses built up

To defend against my worried maw

Running my tongue along 

Broken cuticles

Asking for band-aids to cover

Open lesions

Every spare tab of skin

Is ripe for the biting

I am an ouroboros 

Of anxiety

The biting never stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bite my fingers a lot, but i shouldn't


	5. untitled anxiety poem

An uphill battle

Would be somewhat

Of an understatement.

It was more like 

A war;

A series of fights;

A series of constant,

Harrowing,

Conflicts,

With my own thoughts;

With the temptation

To pick and scratch;

To tear at my own skin;

To pluck the feathers

From my wings,

And allow angry, red sores to

Bloom.

Playing a continuous game of

Love me,

Love me not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a period of my life where i would scratch at my thighs whenever I got frustrated with myself; i'm better with that now.


	6. the road leading up to my old townhouse

A white fence once crested

Along this road.

I would watch it fly

As we drove home,

Purest white, shiny and new;

Like the townhouses watching us from behind.

The years stomped past and

The fence was left behind, along 

With those watchful window-eyes

And I forgot about how

I once imagined a cat 

Running along its length

As the car race it along the road.

We drive past now, 

And I watch the white line

Waving in time with the hills,

With the contour of the road,

Beckoning me to a home that is no longer mine.

The fence is no longer

Purely white;

The paint is fading 

And marred by lichen.

Perhaps my memories

Are similarly faded;

Structure existing 

But time having taken its toll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved in my childhood, as many people do; but sometimes I think about where I lived and how it changed along with me.


	7. mom:

I could trace every line

That the years have carved on your face,

And yet I know none of those

That weigh down your mind.

Brown hair, streaked with gray—

Did I cause that, or did time?--

Tired green eyes

Cold hands, clasped for comfort

Connected to warm arms that hold

When the going gets tough and

Cross when irritation arrives. 

Why leave me in the dark

About your worries

When I so badly want to lift them

Away from you?


	8. Digging for Compliments

Your shovel is worn,

The handle smooth,

And your callouses rough

From the frequency of your excavation/

It’s admirable,

How you brave dirt and grime,

Wind and snow,

Skin and bone

In order to continue your descent,

Carving your way past sincerity

Until you’re met with

The unbreakable,

The end of sympathy.

Your problems burden you,

Straining your muscles to their limit,

Toward atrophy, rather than strength,

As you hit the rock with your tool

Over and over and over

Futilely denting your only asset, 

And eventually breaking your shovel entirely

Using your hands

To claw at the stone

Scratching at an opening that isn’t there

Until your fingernails are broken

Your skin shredded

Your bones shattered. 

Don’t cry at the unyielding surface below,

That which you tore away

Miles of fertile soil to arrive.

Don’t scream too loudly,

For underneath of the stone

Is simmering resentment

For how hard you’ve been pushing.


	9. Friends By the Dozen

The memories that you share

Are never in singularities—

They’re always posted by the bulk,

Like you purchase friends in the dairy aisle

Uncaring if they’re cracked,

Not bothering to help if they are.

You keep them in the back of your mind,

Pulling varieties out when you’re craving

A specific taste, a specific impression

For your tongue is fickle. 

Your fridge is full of eggs—

And eggs rot—

And you pretend to be unaware

And when the eggs do spoil

When they no longer have a place

You blame them for their nature.


	10. little words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: bug imagery at the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i feel Some Type of Way

sometimes, it's okay, but others

the word "she" is a shock like cold water

when i give the choice to people who care

they turn to the familiar, which

is natural, i know how i look

my baby face and high voice and breasts clearly present

but the they is there nonetheless, the one no one sees

i had hope over email, maybe they would take the bait

i could trick them into thinking im genuine maybe

just maybe id have the courage to -

no -

im faking it im faking it im faking it -

some days its better than others

slap a bandaid over it and forget for a bit

it almost feels right

but others its like

digging for a splinter

when its actually a tick

still alive and squirming

whispering that something isnt right its not right its not

and you have to pretend that nothing is wrong


	11. my head is full of bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my head is full of bees
> 
> TW: vomiting, bugs

my head is full of bees

fat squirming things with fuzz and long, thick legs

tiny ones with minute voices and pollen on their fur

and right at the base of my brain stem is the queen bee

always birthing more, more, more

so that whenever a drone is squashed there is another to replace it

to make more honey, sickly sweet, which fills my mouth until i heave

my stomach full of the stuff and unable to take anymore

and they form more honeycombs, which have been lately spreading down my neck

and i ask "girls could you perhaps slow down please"

bees can't talk, so they don't listen

so i keep vomiting up honey and moving my neck back and forth

to try and soothe the pain there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety is great, fellas


End file.
